Writer @IrishExaminer, author of Val's Kitchen, Bread on the Table and Irish Bread. Fermentation fanatic and teacher of fermenting and plant based cooking.

January 2012

January 04, 2012

Lazing with a full belly on my couch after a nice night in earlier this week, just contemplating getting into my PJs, my phone rang. It was my good friend who often calls me after many a good night out to tell me how fun it was. This time he was calling to tell me I was coming out dancing with him. Due to babysitting duties he'd missed the official new-years eve and was having his now, on Monday, and I was to go with him.

"No way," I protested, having just done the whole taking off my grimy face routine with five bottles of goo, "I'm just about to go to bed, it's p***ing rain and the kitchen is full of dirty dishes."

"Right," says he "I'll get us a taxi there to the door, pay you in, buy you drinks and get you a cab home."

"And the dishes? " I figured I'd push it while I was in the drivers seat

"I'll do the dishes while you"re getting ready."

Shamone

I was off the couch and in the kitchen filling up the sink and had some getting-ready-to-go-out-music on in seconds. I grabbed one of those go anywhere, especially to a nightclub dresses, my boots that I can actually dance in and waitied for the doorbell to ring before I started to get changed. Sometimes it does only take five minutes, all you need is a pile of extra eye liner and three day old dirty hair can look conveniently bed-head when required.

Off we went, dishes done, into the rainy night and straight to one of Limericks "hottest" (please get the irony here) nightspots. I thought at first that I'd accidentally walked into my friends' daughters birthday party, the crowd was young yes, but I knew that. I know I'm getting on when I wonder how these people can all afford to be hammered on a Monday night straight after new years when everybody is claiming to be smashed broke. We have a drink and make our way to the club, that's why we're here after all, for my friends need for road.

It's all Rhianna and the Ting Tings and the floor is full. You can stand around and watch it, there's a good mix of people. I see a couple who are older, much older, they're not looking for their granddaughter either. He's there to dance and he's loving it. Who says that just because you're grey haired and a bit bent over that you just give up loving music and dancing and he's shuffling around in his spot, his wife or friend is sitting down and it's good that they came in. Brave in a world of hooker shoes and unsteady, drunk yoofs. Too much do people moan about being too old for this or that, too old to dance, too shy to dance, too self conscious. As my Ma would always say, the great leveller: "Sure who'll be looking at you?"

A girl in a wheelchair was giving it loads with her friends, most people dance with their hands anyway. Dancing is one thing that, in Ireland, requires no skill, no money and no need for high heels. You can be silly, you can act the gowl, boys and girls alike. It's ancient, it's tribal, it gets things out of you that are deep inside, it makes you let go. You can gyrate wildly or simply shuffle by the sidelines. Inevitably a dance-off of takes place between inebriated young males. Knees may get buckled and the odd glass broken, but it's fun to watch.

Two hours later and back in the cab. My tights are torn, I've had a laugh and a workout like a night out in Havana, without the pressure to dance properly. It always takes a couple of hours to decompress and eventually I get off to sleep.

Yesterday's groggy focus was getting to the shops for food. I always want Chinesey after a night out and I arrived home with some cheap n cheerless chicken portions to Chinesify. I've recently noticed Chinese food meeting Italian food so I saw no problem in firing a few garlic breads in the oven too, but not until the chicken is nearly cooked. Make some rice if you can be bothered.

Sticky Chicken

Good for wings, legs, thighs, not breasts

You will need:

Chicken, see above

Ginger - a thumb size piece, grated

A large blob of honey

Soy sauce, about 4 tblsp

Thai sweet chilli sauce - about 3 tblsp

Mix all the sauce stuff together, put the chicken in a roasting tin and cover with the sauce, mix around with your hands and put in the oven at about 180 degrees C. Turn everything after half an hour and cook for another 20-30 mins. Devour with anything you can find, alone or with a beer. A squeeze of lime juice over it is good, but don't over-fancify things for yourself

January 02, 2012

Happy new year to everyone and especially those of you who continue to read my little blog after all its years snuffling around on the interweb.

A food filled Christmas has passed, full of good times, big dinners at home and in some of Limerick's best take aways. Happily I've only cooked dinner once in my own home, despite being the ripe old age of , my Mum and Dad still do the best turkey and ham and I won't complain, it's great to be fed and watered and sent home with a real Christmas pudding for the months to come.

Every now and again I'll meet someone who amazes me by telling me they read my blog, the last time was in Costello's, my still favourite grungy, sticky carpeted haunt. "We love your website in our house", shouted a handsome young guy I've spoken to many times whose name I don't know. Apparently they do loads of cooking which is always good to hear. For you guys, here's a classic French recipe as told to be by a classic Frenchman.

Patés Au Beurre

This is a typical student dish, as described ironically on the tin Patés Obeur, a bad spelling of pasta with butter. No money food.

I used to cook this a lot as a late night snack in my teens, little did I know how "continental" I was being.

You will need

Pasta - enough for yourself, what student can afford to think of others?

Butter - the real stuff, no room for scrimping here

1. Cook the pasta according to the pack instructions, your college education should afford you some reading ability

2. douse in a knob of butter and stir it in

This is surprisingly yummier than it sounds, do not ruin with ketchup, the French would not be impressed with you messing up a classic